


The Stake

by silver_tt



Category: Simon Snow & Related Fandoms
Genre: Comfort, Hurt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-22
Updated: 2020-08-22
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:35:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26038009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silver_tt/pseuds/silver_tt
Summary: Baz is hurt and Simon helps.
Relationships: Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow
Comments: 2
Kudos: 42





	The Stake

**Author's Note:**

> Do you ever have something in your head that won't go away until you write it down? Yeah.  
> This is the shortest thing I've written in a long time. It's a quick read, at least.

Baz

I’ve never felt this kind of pain before.

Burning. Sharp. Impossible.

I try to pull the stake from my chest, but the angle is wrong and my arms are shaking and it hurts too much. (Crowley, it hurts.) I’m crying. Sobbing. (My tears are cold.)

And then I remember.

I manage to pull my phone from my pocket, find the contact, and call.

He answers on the first ring. I listen to his voice.

Simon

Baz isn’t talking. He called and he isn’t talking. “Baz?” I say. “Baz! Where are you?” I hang up and call again, but he doesn’t answer and I wish I would have stayed on the line.

I fly higher and rocket forward, scanning the ground below me.

I’ll tear apart the whole world to find him.

But there’s something on the ground, and I approach it. It’s him, it’s Baz, laying in the grass and in the sun.

He’s not moving. As I fly closer, I see his head turned to the side, hair fanned out behind him. Phone on the ground by his ear. One arm up, one arm down. Legs straight out from him. A wooden stake in his chest.

I crash more than I land. I kneel next to him. “Baz! It’s Simon. I’m here.” I pull on the stake, but it’s stuck so firmly in him that I have to stand and straddle him to get enough leverage to pull it out. I kneel again.

I staked a vampire once at a Renaissance Fair in Nebraska. He shriveled up before me. That’s my only consolation, that Baz isn’t shriveled up, but he’s not healing fast enough, he’s not waking up. He’s too thin. He’s somehow paler than I’ve ever seen him.

He must be so thirsty.

Some of my tears drip onto his skin. I don’t bother wiping my face. I don’t want to let go of him.

“Wake up, Baz.”

Baz

Oh, I want to wake up.

I hear Simon’s voice, his heartbeat. I feel his hands and his warmth and his tears. It’s cooler now. He must be sheltering me with his wings.

I’m in pain. Hungry. Thirsty. I couldn’t move if I tried. And I’m trying.

I want to get up for him. I need him to know that I’ll be okay, but I’m not okay. _I_ don’t even know if I’ll be okay.

He gently opens my mouth and places something warm under my teeth. They pop out of reflex and pierce the skin.

I know by his sharp intake of breath that it’s him. I taste it.

Simon tastes just how he smells: sweet, warm. Oh, so warm. His blood is spilling into my mouth, even though I’m not drinking. It’s given me the strength, though, to push his arm away. It takes all my strength to pull my teeth back in. I open my eyes.

There he is. He glows red under the sunlight filtered through his wings. His curls fall toward me, golden red. Tears stream from his eyes, just as they stream from mine. Those eyes. So blue.

He’s beautiful.

He’s sobbing.

“It’s okay,” he says, his warm hands on my cheeks. “It’s okay. You need to drink.”

“I can’t,” I manage, but I don’t think he hears me.

He presses his forehead to mine and closes his eyes. “I trust you. You won’t hurt me.”

I’m so dried out from the sun that no more tears come, but they want to. My eyes sting. I stare at his freckles to ignore the pain, but it doesn’t work. My chest burns. I feel like I’m about to catch on fire. Delirious, I nod.

Simon pulls back, and I want to cry more. I’m burning. I’m cold.

He’s so warm.

Simon places his arm back in my mouth, and I close my eyes. One hand grips his free arm. And the other holds the arm in my mouth.

I drink.

He tastes so good. Rich, filling. How have I gone all these years drinking only animals? Those are nothing. This is everything.

His blood floods my mouth. I drink greedily. I want to drink until I’m filled with him, until I _am_ him.

Simon

It stings, that’s for sure. I don’t know why I offered to let him drink my blood. (Yes I do. I’d die for him.)

Baz is crying. His hand is on my free arm, holding so tight I’ll probably bruise. I place my hand on his cheek.

He pushes my arm away, and I wipe my blood from his lips.

I kiss him.

Baz

_He’s so warm._

_I’m so tired._

Simon

I think he fell asleep. He deserves his rest. He needs it.

My hands shake as I gently unbutton his shirt enough to see the wound. It’s already scabbed over. Dark blood bruises its edges. I’m afraid that if I move him, he’ll bleed out. (Can vampires bleed out?)

But I need to get him out of the sun. He needs to get home to rest.

Baz will live. But he’s in pain.

As gently as I can, I lift him and cradle him to my chest. He groans, wraps his shaking arms around my neck, and nuzzles into me. I can feel a scab on his back, too. _Did the stake go all the way through him?_ There’s a hole in the ground surrounded by blood.

I choke down another sob. “I’ve got you, Baz.”

I take off.

I can’t get him back to my flat in the centre of London. There are too many people, too many Normals. His flat poses the same problem. I can’t take him to his family, since they still hate me, even though the Mage is dead and I’m no longer his heir. His aunt Fiona might help, but I don’t know where she lives.

There’s only one place.

Watford still stands despite everything. It’s summertime, so no one is there. No one guards the gate that I open with Baz’s hand. (I’m not a mage anymore so it won’t open for me.) Goats wander the lawn, unchecked since Ebb died years ago. The drawbridge is down because it’s daytime, but I don’t use it. I fly above the inner wall and land outside Mummers House.

I haven’t been inside Mummers since the day I left Christmas break during our eighth year. Baz had already gone home for the holiday, and I was alone. He and I were trying to find his mother’s killer, and I just found out a lead from Ebb. Baz needed to know. I left the room we shared. I didn’t bother to bring any clothes, or anything, for that matter. I simply pooled enough money to buy a train ticket and walked miles to the station.

I climb the stairs to our old room at the top of the tower. The room remembers me. It lets me in.

It’s not our room anymore, though. Two new boys have moved in. Their clothes litter the floor and their posters paper the wall. I wonder whether they’re friends or if they’re sworn enemies like Baz and me were all those years ago.

I lay Baz on his bed and stare at his face. It’s gaunt and pale and beautiful.

This is the face I fell in love with.

My blood seems to have done him good. He almost has color in his cheeks. His eyes don’t look as sunken or his skin as dry as when I found him.

It’s a small bed only made for one person. I squeeze in anyway. I know he likes when I warm him. (He’s always so cold.)

I would do anything for him.

I whisper.

“I love you.”

Baz

_I love you, too._


End file.
